


Prisoner

by agent_florida



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Gunplay, M/M, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-07
Updated: 2010-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a dialogue exchange from Episode 66 of the BGC. Apparently Simmons is a little more kinky than he lets on, but he has a little trouble expressing it…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoner

“Come on, Simmons, I’m a prisoner. You should be jabbing me in the neck with a gun and saying  _suck my cock!_ ”  
  
Grif was buck-naked and frogtied on the bed, leaning back on his elbows and grinning like a bastard, and now Simmons had no idea what to do with him. As kinky as he tried to be, he knew he wouldn’t live up to Grif’s expectations. So he nudged his pistol up against Grif’s neck as he positioned his hard-on closer to his mouth. “Suck my cock,” he mumbled, more embarrassed than anything.  
  
“Louder,” Grif said, grinning wider.  
  
Simmons jabbed the gun at Grif’s throat again. With Grif talking like that, it really wasn’t hard to get in the mood. “I said  _suck me off!_ ”  
  
“Ye-he-he-heah, that’s more like it,” Grif laughed as he took Simmons’ cock into his mouth.  
  
But after a few moments, Simmons was getting way too hot and power-hungry, so he put the pistol to Grif’s neck again and pulled out of his mouth. “Move it, soldier.” He had never heard his own voice sound so low or so breathy before. Within the space of a few seconds, he had Grif’s arms pinned under his back as he lowered himself down, so ready for it that he didn’t even need preparation.  
  
“Okay, seriously? That hurts,” Grif complained, his face screwing up as Simmons tried to position himself correctly.  
  
“What? What hurts?”  
  
“Well, for starters, could you stop leaning on my goddamn elbows?”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Maybe after this.”  
  
Despite his best efforts, Simmons couldn’t get a good angle. “Fuck – get in the hole…”  
  
And finally, Grif slipped inside him, and both men groaned at the feeling. “I take it back,” Grif gasped. “This is so much better than the last time you took me prisoner.”  
  
Looking down, though, Grif was still grinning. And it was starting to piss Simmons off. This wasn’t supposed to be funny, this was supposed to be sexy and kinky. And he wasn’t supposed to be doing all the work. So he lightly smacked Grif on the face with the butt end of his pistol. “Move.”  
  
Grif just looked up at him as he gave a particularly defiant thrust. “Dude, if you keep doing that, this is going to get old, quick.”  
  
Simmons just hit him in the face again, then let the muzzle of the gun rest against Grif’s temple. “I said  _fuck me like it’s going out of style._ ”  
  
That one wiped the smile off of Grif’s face. “Ow!”  
  
Simmons took advantage of Grif’s brief moment of disorientation to fuck himself on Grif’s cock harder. “Who’s the bad hostage-taker now, bitch?” he grunted.  
  
But then the tables turned on him, almost literally; Grif had been saving enough energy in his arms to propel himself forward, catching Simmons by surprise so that he was now pinned under a very possessive-looking Dexter Grif. “Uh, I think I found a design flaw in your frogties,” he whispered, putting a hand over Simmons’ hand still holding the pistol to Grif’s temple.  
  
“G – Grif!” Simmons let his eyes close as a sudden wave of pleasure washed over him; this position was so much more satisfying than the other one. But then his power-hungry streak came back, and he shook Grif’s hand off of his as he dug the muzzle of the gun deeper into the sensitive skin on Grif’s face. “Get back on the bottom, asshole.”  
  
“No way. This is much more like it.” And Simmons watched as Grif sucked his bottom lip in, biting it in an almost unconsciously sexy way as he started fucking Simmons harder.  
  
But at this point, Simmons was coming down from his power-high, and now he just felt more embarrassed than ever that he had agreed to participate in this. For once, he had wanted to be on top, but even that had failed. “God, this sucks,” he muttered, even as Grif’s cock moved inside him.  
  
“Seriously, dude, just lighten up. We’re still having fun.” And he reached down with one hand to grasp at Simmons’ still-slippery cock, pumping it slowly in relation to his nearly-frantic thrusts.  
  
“Mm – unh – what are you doing?” Simmons was uncomfortable now. Not only had he lost control of the situation, but now he was losing control over his body. He groaned as Grif worked inside him and outside him, gripping onto the pistol like it was his last grip on reality as he suddenly lost it and came all over his own stomach.  
  
Half a dozen thrusts later, and Grif was following him. For a few seconds afterwards, they remained connected, locked in a stalemate, staring into each other’s eyes, Simmons still holding the pistol to Grif’s head; then they relaxed, and Grif fell to Simmons’ side, knocking the pistol out of his lover’s hand. “Huh. I guess we got it backwards that time.” He had a point; Simmons had come from that a lot earlier than he usually did.  
  
“You’re supposed to –“ Simmons started to explain, but when he looked over into Grif’s face, the blissed-out post-coital expression there was able to melt away any residual anger and embarrassment he might have been feeling over it. Instead, he pounced playfully, pushing Grif’s knees up to his chest and catching both of Grif’s wrists to pin them above his head. He made sure to flash a smile in Grif’s face before he kneeled over to kiss Grif’s ear, then his neck. “You’re the prisoner. So stay down.”


End file.
